You Go Down Smooth
by runicmagitek
Summary: He can't stand him and yet that hasn't stopped those late-night meetings. Pre-canon Brighton/Manley


_for Bernadette bro for the tumblr kiss prompt: to wake up_

* * *

Wind sifted through the open window and danced with the gossamer curtain. The cool breeze contrasted against the arid air forever permeating Jomuer Valley. It smoothed over Brighton's bare shoulders and swept through his tousled hair. A soft groan vibrated upon his lips before he rolled over, tangled in silk bed sheets. He buried his face deeper into the plush pillow and retreated to his dreamless slumber once more.

Until decadent kisses teased his shoulder.

Those curious lips trailed up his neck and brushed along his earlobe. Something soft, yet robust—quite the odd mix to have in one's lips, but Brighton came to relish the sensation. Coupled with sweet, rich aroma drifting in the bedroom flooded Brighton with goosebumps down to his toes. A soft gasp escaped him as those lips shifted from kisses to playful nips. Squirming in place, Brighton pried his eyes open and peeked behind him.

The blue haze of twilight swept through the interior, blurring his surroundings, yet not enough to hide the sap grinning from above.

"Why good morning, Brighton dear," Manley cooed. "And here I thought you would never wake up."

"Sun's not even up yet." He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Why would I _possibly_ be awake?"

Manley perched his rigid chin upon Brighton's shoulder. "Now, now! No need for that tone! I'll have you know I let you sleep in."

Brighton blinked, unamused. "Did you now?"

"But of _course_ , my dearest! I know how you need your beauty sleep and well… you _are_ quite beautiful when you sleep."

"Did _you_ even sleep?"

"Only the best next to _you_ , of course." He nuzzled into his neck with a purr. "You forget that we saps are immediately awake at even a sliver of sunlight. I've been awake and fully rested for some time now, though I did not forget that your… _unfortunate_ form requires _far_ too much rest."

Brighton furrowed his brow. "What are _you_ calling unfortunate?!"

Manley simply grinned and poked Brighton's nose. "Inside voice, my dear! No need to be upset about the circumstances you were born into. Besides, you should be grateful."

"And remind me _for what_ , exactly?"

Long, sturdy limbs enveloped Brighton. Orange hair fell in front of those half-opened eyes, the same ones he came to loathe and admire. Again that scent filtered through Brighton's nostrils until his breath quivered in his chest. That look alone spoke beyond words, though Manley entertained him all the same.

"Because," Manley murmured. "I find _you_ , of all the specimens of your kind, to be the most exemplary individual in what I deem to be beautiful."

Blush burned Brighton's cheeks. For every instance he internally screamed and wondered _why_ he twisted himself up in the likes of Manley, he recalled the instances which brushed over his heart. It was in the tender embrace, that adoring stare, the somehow heartfelt words, and then, as always, a kiss passionate enough to render both of them speechless.

He longed to drown in those lips. It numbed him from the dread which loomed in every day spent in the Downside. It was a reminder that if he hadn't been exiled, then they would have never crossed paths. Maybe his daily stress would be a mere simmer in comparison to the violent boil Manley was able to produce within him on a good day. Even so, for as often as the blasted sap induced a blinding rage within Brighton, he also elicited the utmost bliss to rival with any fury.

Fingers curled into one another's body. Gentle moans pleaded for more. They tumbled across the bed, not once loosening the hold on each other. If only he could resign himself to that moment until the end of time.

Warm hues marked the skies and seeped through the window. Dust particles floated in the subtle rays forming. Such light, no matter how dim, splashed across Brighton's face, enough to sober him from the ecstasy.

He jerked up and away from Manley. A curse burst past his tight lips. "I must go."

"So soon?" Manley whined.

The vine-like tendrils comprising of Manley's lower body wrapped around Brighton's legs and waist to pin him back down. He hitched his breath as his forehead bumped into Manley's. Not once did that damn sap stop smirking.

"Do you _truly_ loathe these lazy mornings with me, my dear?"

Brighton scoffed. "The Nightwings will be looking for me sooner than later upon realizing their _Reader_ is amiss."

"Why would they require you at such an hour? To read cooking recipes?"

"Well… actually, I hadn't thought of that, but no, I—"

Manley clicked his tongue and shook his head. "No doubt they are unable to offer you what _I_ _'_ _m_ capable of, Brighton dear, so why don't you relax and allow me to indulge you some more?"

Tempting. Far too tempting. And those devious eyebrows wiggling at him weren't helping, either. Part of Brighton longed to melt into him and savor every second and inch possible. Instead, he sighed and jerked away, rolling out of bed and away from Manley.

"Do you forget that we are rivals?!" Brighton grumbled, scouring the floor for his pants. "It was only the previous night that we performed the Rites against one another!"

"Oh, how could I ever forget?" Manley chuckled. " _You_ were magnificent, as always."

Brighton snapped his head back and fashioned a glare for Manley. The sap lounged on his stomach, folded hands keeping his grinning face held up.

"I _lost_ ," Brighton spat out.

"To _me_ , my dearest. Consider it a privilege."

"And then you— _why_ would I ever consider it as such?!"

"Brighton, I'm hurt! I don't share my bed with just _any_ Exile who has lost a Rite. Banish such a thought from your lovely mind! You're the only one I'd ever give more than a passing thought to, after all."

 _You say that as if it were a positive notion._ "Fine," he muttered while slipping on his tunic, "but the point is that for all I know, the Nightwings wish to depart at sunrise, thus it is in my best interest to leave before they do so."

"Alright, if you insist." Manley sighed and rolled his eyes. "We _must_ work on your timing."

"And _you_ must do something about—" Brighton blinked; not a coherent thought surfaced as he gazed upon Manley's nude form grinning back at him.

"You were _saying_ , Brighton?"

"Oh for the love of—" He smacked his forehead. "Never mind! I'm leaving now!"

"Aww, no goodbye kiss for me? That's rather rude of you. I should have your head for that behavior."

An exasperated sigh heaved out of Brighton as he pivoted to stomp toward Manley. He snatched his chin and hauled him up. Manley's eyes flashed wide, mixed with annoyance and anticipation. Brighton crushed his lips against Manley's until his lover nearly quaked against him for more.

"There," Brighton uttered upon breaking the kiss. "Satisfied?"

Manley licked his lip. "Oh, you know I never am, but I suppose it will tide me over until next time."

"You're _far_ too optimistic."

"And yet _you_ keep coming back. Trust me—I've been keeping count."

Prying himself away before Manley could latch onto him, Brighton whirled away. He caught his cloak from the shelf it dangled from, swept it around himself, and cast his sights back one last time.

"Don't be a stranger," Manley purred while nestling into bed, almost as if attempting to entice him.

Brighton rolled his eyes. "Don't be optimistic."

"You'll miss me soon enough. You _always_ do."

And he hated when Manley was right. Funny, that—he seemed to _always_ hate the insufferable bastard.

Without a single sound humoring his lips, Brighton pushed past the closed door and slipped out of the blackwagon unnoticed, save for a handful of curious Drive-Imps. The once cool wind no longer calmed him; the promise of a sweltering heat lingered in the air. Orange and pink marked the skies, as well, though the sun had yet to peek out from the horizon. Brighton rushed into the desert, pausing to glance back at the Chastity's blackwagon.

If only they had more time. Perhaps then Manley's clinging would grate his nerves less. Then again, the Downside prided itself in less than ideal circumstances. _Make the most of it,_ Brighton reminded himself every time he snuck out before dawn. _There_ _'_ _s no point in reading between the lines when you agreed upon a distraction._

A delectable, insatiable distraction.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. _And leave it as such, unless you_ _'_ _re keen on making you_ and _your Triumvirate into fools once more._

Past the dunes and boulders was a familiar blackwagon nestled behind a mammoth skeleton. Brighton scanned the premise—no one in sight, just as he hoped. He crept towards the back of the vessel and to the window he left cracked open the previous night. Slipping out from the blackwagon was a simple task, though climbing back into it without so much as a sound was an effort he hadn't considered until then.

The most activity his hands received on a daily basis was flipping tome pages. And yet there he was, heaving and groaning with each failed attempt to haul himself back inside. Manley would have scolded him for such uncivilized behavior, though he also would have made a grand entrance through the front door. Neither offered Brighton any relief, save for the promise of salvaging whatever dignity he had left after a midnight dalliance with an adversary.

Eventually—thankfully—Brighton mustered enough strength to vault himself into his room. The landing needed work, however; no doubt even Manley heard that unfortunate rumpus as furniture and Brighton alike collapsed.

He held his breath as trinkets and baubles splayed over him. Not so much as a creak riddled the interior. With an immense sigh, Brighton returned to his feet and tidied his mess. He clapped his hands upon finishing, shrugged off his cloak, and emerged into the main living space.

Erisa and Oralech stared at him.

"Drive-Imps giving you trouble again?" Oralech asked.

Brighton froze, his face paler than his fellow Exile's hair. "W-what trouble?"

"Hey, Brighton," Erisa chimed in, "where—"

"I was here the whole damned night!"

Oralech blinked. Erisa raised an eyebrow.

"—are the eggs, was what I was going to ask," she finished, "but yeah, that works, too."

Oh, if only his face _stayed_ pale instead of burning he way it did now.

"I was!" he insisted.

"Uh-huh. _Sure_."

"Is that why," Oralech asked, "you didn't answer when I knocked on your door to ask about the spare pillows you keep hogging?"

Brighton snapped his glare to Oralech. "Quiet, you!"

"The _eggs_ , Brighton," Erisa droned out, "do you know where they are? Yes or no?"

He rolled his eyes. "On the top and in the back, behind all the bottles _you_ keep shoving in there."

"Yeesh, way to be a grump this morning." Erisa rose from her seat and shuffled to the kitchen. "What's the matter? Your boyfriend keep you up all night and deprive you of your beauty sleep?"

Without a doubt, even Manley heard the scream piercing the Nightwing's blackwagon.


End file.
